


Tastes Like Home

by blaziken



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, dorian tries out cooking and kinda loves it, lots of food mentions, mentions of inquisitor OC x Cullen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:29:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22307953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blaziken/pseuds/blaziken
Summary: In which Dorian indulges himself in a surprising new hobby, and Bull takes the opportunity to bond in an unexpected way.----------------For the Adoribull Reverse Bang 2019!
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 6
Kudos: 89
Collections: The Collected Fanfics for the Adoribull Reverse Bang 2019





	1. Lonely Nights, Lonely Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> I was on the 'Tastes like Home' team for The Adoribull Reverse Big Bang 2019! The fic is paired with [this](https://hattedhedgehog.tumblr.com/post/190327762922/my-entry-for-the-2019-adoribull-reverse-big-bang) wonderful art by @hattedhedgehog and [this](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ADBRB2019/works/22305454) fic by @ryebread!

The last few days had been particularly gruelling for Inquisitor Lavellan and her entourage; the trips to and from the Western Approach had taken over a week, and thanks to the general weariness of travel, she felt inclined to attend to as much business as possible. Her reasoning was so that it wasn’t a complete waste of time, which was completely understandable but for Dorian it just meant spending far too long away from his Library perch, a proper bath, and  _ privacy _ . 

The fact that he and Bull were… an item wasn't unknown throughout the Inquisition, they'd agreed fairly early that it would have been rather difficult to keep it a secret. It wouldn't have taken the residents of Skyhold very long to realize that the famed Iron Bull had stopped warming people's beds on a nightly basis. And with how close in proximity everyone in Skyhold had no choice but to be, it would take no time at all for rumours and eventual truths to be told. But that also meant for their three, almost four week excursion, Dorian and Bull could spare no time to themselves in  _ private. _ Not that Bull himself cared about making their friends very uncomfortable during the nights, but Dorian liked the Inquisitor enough to spare her from  _ that.  _

Of course, the Inquisitor was noticeably feeling it too. Well, it was noticeable to Dorian and Bull at least. Any mentions of Commander Cullen caused her pause for the briefest of moments, likely remaining uncaught to anyone who wasn’t sure what they were looking for. Ffion had confided in Dorian throughout her whole ordeal with Cullen, and, well, Bull's whole trade was based on being able to read a person's body language down to the smallest of movements. That was paired with the fact Dorian gossiped about it with him, of course, but he knew Ffion probably wouldn't mind. Much. 

After they’d returned to Skyhold uneventfully, it hadn’t taken Ffion long in the day to finally excuse herself, explaining she needed the rest so that she could be fresh and ready to face the Inquisition’s trials in the morning. Dorian had shared a look with Bull at the immediate impatience from Cullen, but the commander was nothing if not professional. Although, Dorian still found it in himself to make a sly comment to Cullen out of earshot from everyone else, causing the commander to blush and scowl at him. 

The rest of that evening was again, uneventful, and downright relaxing. Dorian was finally able to bathe properly, with all his perfumes at his disposal, and spent a considerable chunk of time choosing his flavour for that evening. He was naturally going to be spending the entire night with Bull, so he picked out the scent that he was pretty sure was Bull’s favourite. Not that Bull had been inclined to divulge that information of course, but Dorian spent enough time with him to at least pick up on the smaller things. It only took a few moments with Bull for Dorian to know he’d absolutely picked out the correct perfume, and the pair spent the night in bliss, away from prying eyes, and  _ especially  _ from the nosey elven ears of a certain Inquisitor. Although, Dorian doubted anyone but Cullen was going to be on her mind that evening. Which was only mildly insulting, but he figured he should at least let the Commander have  _ some  _ alone time with her: it was only fair after all, since Dorian never let him get away without teasing him. 

The next week or so saw Skyhold abuzz with activity: the Inquisition had finally managed to secure a new source of help, and most of the grounds and main areas of the stronghold were crammed with people. The current residents of Skyhold were visibly relieved, none more so than the inner circle. This new influx of fresh faces was a blessing to many: it brought along a much needed relief with new healers, new soldiers, and an extra source of supplies for every area of the Inquisition. It did, however, bring on a heap more stress for the Inquisitor. She’d made the commitment very early on to greet as many of the people under her protection as possible, a mammoth task just in itself, but coupled with the actual running of the Inquisition too meant she had little time for herself, and even less time for missions. 

It wouldn’t have been so bad for Dorian had Bull been present. But he and the Chargers had taken off on a special ‘Chargers only’ mission that  _ apparently  _ Dorian wasn’t allowed to be privy to. Dorian had tried his best to seem disinterested, waving Bull away with barely a comment. “If you happen to find any spices, do bring them back with you. If we stay secluded here much longer with the bland food from the kitchens I fear I may go insane. It’s almost as if these Southerners think  _ salt _ is a  _ spice _ ! Absolutely dreadful.” 

Bull had let him finish, smiling at him with a raised eyebrow through his tirade, then leaned in to steal a kiss, which had left Dorian frowning. “We’ll be back soon, Kadan.”

It wasn’t until later that afternoon that Dorian realised exactly what name Bull had used for him, and he was eternally grateful he was sat in his nook in the library, away from prying eyes. He  _ blushed. _ Dorian of House Pavus didn’t  _ blush,  _ he was no maiden in the midst of her first courtship, and he couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdness of his reaction. He was half convinced Bull only said it so that this precisely would happen, but the other half of him wasn’t so sure. Surely if it was just to get a reaction out of Dorian, he’d have wanted to see it for himself? Dorian rolled his eyes and righted himself, there was no point worrying about it now; Bull was gone for Maker knows how long, so he’d just have to challenge him when he returned. 

What Dorian hadn’t planned on, though, was how overwhelmingly bored he could get at Skyhold. He’d gotten so used to always being busy, whether that was the general participation in saving the world or having Bull or Ffion around him at Skyhold, that without some sort of disaster or magical occurrence that demanded his attention, there was quite simply, bugger all for him to do. He’d pottered around the Inquisition’s mages for a while, but he quickly grew frustrated with the simpleness of the teachings, and he was aware that, even if he’d stepped in to give advice, his teachings would be far too advanced for the beginners. He was mostly aware that he could, in fact, show them something more basic, but he wanted a way to  _ solve _ his boredom, not  _ add _ to it. He turned his attention then towards the healing tent, though he was mostly useless there too. Though his specialisation in Necromancy was (in his eyes) useful in most areas of life, it was completely contrary to what the  _ Healers  _ were trying to achieve. He stayed around for a little bit of moral support, but he was quite quickly shooed out: most people knew his specialisation was with the dead and recently deceased, so having him around people who were potentially dying wasn’t very comforting to  _ anyone  _ involved.

Cole had offered him some wise words of wisdom after that encounter, though Doran wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about receiving them. 

“You think you are there to help but you are hurting them. The one cloaked in death, to take them to the other side and bring them back. No rest for them, no sleep, They don’t want to die and they don’t want to be not-dead.”

“I quite understand, Cole.” 

After wandering Skyhold aimlessly for a while longer, he eventually found himself strolling into the kitchens, partly out of hunger and partly from hearing loud, hearty laughs from the Kitchen staff. He peeked in first, the staff chattering away happily, but as he strolled in, the chatter died down, most of them unsure on how to react to Dorian. 

“Oh don’t mind me, I’m very quickly learning that being idle brings on hunger in the most infuriating of ways.”

The staff all visibly relaxed and a few of them smiled warmly at him. One of the more senior cooks as he remembered her, brushed her hands off in the apron around her waist and strolled up to Dorian. She was a large, blond lady with rosy cheeks and a motherly face, and she had streaks of flour on her face, giving her a homely feel. “We’ve got nothing much prepared until supper, Master Pavus, but there are some sweet rolls in the pantry you’re welcome to have”

“Wonderful, I’d be most grateful.”

She nodded and disappeared through the door further into the kitchen, then reappeared a few moments later, carrying three sweet breads in a small cloth.

He accepted the breads gratefully and leaned himself against a wall in the kitchen whilst he ate, the kitchen staff returning to work, all pottering about their tasks. He’d never taken an interest in cooking, or any culinary endeavour for that matter. There had been no need for it in Minrathous; his Father employed more than enough staff to take care of it, and Dorian found his interests in a plethora of other subjects. But as he watched the cooks work their own brand of magic, he found himself more and more intrigued. Everyone was focused on their own task: one kneading dough, one he’d realised was salting meat to preserve it, another sat on a stool at the far end of the room, churning butter. There was a repetition to a lot of it which wasn’t unlike the practising of magic (or, he mused afterwards, the practice of any skill), and he was transfixed on each of them in turn.

“Master Pavus?”

He was brought out of his quiet study of them by the same lady who had procured him the bread, and he smiled at her, offering her his attention.

“If it’s not too much trouble Master Pavus, would you mind passing the bowls from the table next to you?”

He picked them up immediately and handed them over, eyeing up the dough she was battling with, eyebrow raised. 

“My thanks, Master Pavus.” She split the dough into even sections and deposited them in the bowls, then set them aside and started her process again, starting with the measuring out of flour into a large mixing bowl. She eyed up Dorian, who hadn’t moved from the counter after he passed the bowls. He was studying her intently, arms crossed with his finger and thumb to his chin, eyes fixed on them in concentration. “Forgive me, Master Pavus, but are you perhaps interested in helping with the cooking? You’ve been watching us like a hawk, and I’m pretty darn sure at this point that you’re not here as quality control.”

Dorian was a little taken aback by the question, he’d never considered actually getting  _ involved, _ he’d been perfectly happy with watching and studying. But with how much spare time he currently found himself with, it couldn’t necessarily  _ hurt _ to try something new, regardless of how far removed this was from his normal hobbies. 

“I suppose I could lend a hand, yes. Though I profess I have no skill in the matter. Oh, and please, call me Dorian. I’ve had enough ‘Master Pavus’ to last me a lifetime back in Tevinter. Maker knows my status holds no bearing here, nor should it.”

She smiled at him warmly, mostly ignoring his comment. “You may not have skill now, Dorian, but a babe cannot run without first being taught how to walk.”

“I suppose you’re right, though I can’t say I’m too pleased about being likened to an infant.”

She laughed, loud and boisterous, and scooted to the side on the counter, making room for Dorian. “Come, Dorian, remove your strangely intricate gloves and I will show you how to walk.”

He was loathe to admit how much enjoyment he’d got out of the kitchen at first, but once the preparations for supper were in full swing, he’d finally realised how much time had passed. He’d been immersed in everything they’d had him doing, he’d been passed around and got stuck into a plethora of different things and had very surprisingly enjoyed the majority of them. He’d learned the names of the majority of the cooks, and had quite honestly learned more about cooking in those few hours than he had in the rest of his life. He also had a newfound appreciation for the amount of effort it took to feed a stronghold’s worth of people, but also found an odd sense of pride in it. He’d formed a particularly strong connection with Mencía, the blonde, motherly like cook who wasted no time putting him to work.

“Say, Mencía, would you mind at all if I returned tomorrow? Perhaps you could teach me some recipes in case I have to fend for myself at some point, perish the thought.”

“We’ll welcome you with open arms, Dorian. Just, perhaps wear something other than this strange, buckled chestpiece. There will be no fighting or flirting in my kitchen tomorrow or the day after, so no one will need to see your exposed shoulder.” She clapped him on the offending patch of skin and laughed heartily shooing him out and away from the kitchens. “Go, enjoy your supper with your co-workers, we will still be here in the morning.”


	2. A Spiced Discovery

“Chief, was it really the best idea not telling Dorian about this? Seems to me he’d at least want to know there were people out for his blood.”

The Chargers had very quickly finished dispatching a group of Tevinter Mercenaries that Bull had been tipped off about, and he couldn’t help but feel angry at the audacity of them. They were camped far too close to Skyhold for comfort, and Bull was convinced that if it had been left any longer, they’d have a very different mess to clean up. 

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Krem. He’ll find out eventually, and besides, these guys are Vints and we don’t have enough to go on to know if they were sent by his Father or not. I wouldn’t want him to potentially recognise any of them anyway.”

“Do you really think that could be true? His Father sending them, I mean.”

“I doubt it, but you can’t be too sure. His Father’s an ass, sure, but at the very least I don’t think he’d want to lose his only heir, especially not by his own hand. You humans are complicated, but your obsession with bloodline normally outweighs a lot of your personal crap. That being said, it’s pretty convenient timing regardless.” 

Krem rolled his eyes as he rustled through the belongings on the body of who they assumed was the leader of this group, salvaging anything that could be useful to them or the Inquisition. He eventually found an unmarked note in Tevene in the dead man’s pocket, detailing orders and timing instructions for the attacks, including the location of another few batches of Mercenaries between them, Crestwood, and the Storm Coast.

“Hey Chief? This may be a bigger problem than we thought.” Krem handed the note to Bull, who grunted in response. 

“Well boys, looks like we’ve got ourselves a Vint hunt on our hands. No offence, Krem.”

“None taken, just let me have the last kill next time.”

“Only if you’re fast enough to take it from me.” Bull grinned at him and smacked him on the shoulder, causing the smaller man to grunt and stagger forward, taken off guard. “You’ll never steal a kill from me like that.” 

Bull and the Chargers made short work of the camps full of mercenaries and assassins, and he had started to believe that it wasn’t  _ just _ Dorian they were after. Many of them, whether in their near dead states or purely from fear of the Qunari about to bash their skulls in, admitted they weren’t sure about anything regarding Tevinter politics, and were simply paid to kill the Necromancer of the Inquisition. Bull was starting to piece together the story, now: both Dorian  _ and  _ Ffion were Necromancers, and he was pretty sure not all of these bands of hired killers were specifically there for Dorian. He was convinced that most of them were, but a few things weren’t quite adding up.

“Either someone really wants to kill Dorian and wants to throw us off their scent, or someone really fucking hates Necromancers. Not that I blame them, Magic sucks, sorry Dalish —”

“Not a mage.” 

“ — and people who are dead should absolutely stay dead. But let’s get rid of the rest of them first before we need to worry about the crappy politics of it.” 

Bull wasn’t necessarily convinced either way, but these hired swords were nothing special and he wasn’t particularly worried. There were always people out to try and harm the Inquisition after all, so whatever logical leap one needed to take was no matter: they’d get snuffed out eventually. He’d still have to tell the Inquisitor about it, even though he loathed to do it. She had so much on her plate recently that he’d have rather kept it and dealt with it himself, but they had an agreement, and he wasn’t currently in (nor did he wish to be in) the business of misplacing her trust. 

There was one camp they came across that was far more like a collection of traders than mercenaries, their camp was full of supplies, food, fabrics, and Bull even recognised a cluster of ages papers full of recipes written entirely in Tevene. He almost left the camp alone, believing they’d just happened to stumble across the wrong people, but when he heard an offhand comment about the Inquisitor, he no longer held on to that trail of thought. They dispatched them almost immediately, and Bull had the Chargers bundle up anything useful they could take back with them. 

“No doubt someone will be able to make use of most of this back at Skyhold. Stick this all on one of those horses, it’ll be easier to cart it all around with us, as much as I hate them.”

The rest of the mercenary camps were  _ handled  _ with much the same ease: Bull hadn’t found much more information on who was paying them, but it certainly seemed as though it was less of a family matter than he thought. One of the very last groups they came across had traces of the Venatori, so Bull had started to chalk it up to some shitty Vint with a vendetta against both the Inquisition and Dorian. Killing two birds with one stone it seemed, well, attempted to anyway. 

Something Bull wasn't counting on, however, was the sheer amount of time it would take them to handle every last group. He'd only planned on being away for five days at most, but by the time they'd managed to weed out the final group it had been nearly two weeks. It was of course frustrating, no sooner than he'd returned from one long excursion he was already out on the next, but that was the price he had to pay for the life he led. Though it was strange for him to think of someone waiting for him, to welcome him home with open arms. But that was a thought for another time, not for when he was out on a mission.  _ The Vint is making me soft  _ he mused to himself, and for once he didn’t mean Krem. And as much as Bull tried not to think about it, they had all but finished what they’d set out to do, only really having to return back to Skyhold, which from the position they’d ended themselves up in, only gave them barely a day’s worth of travel left for them. It actually gave Bull some time to think, about something and someone that wasn’t purely about sex. It had never meant to be that for him, but there was something so powerful about Dorian. Vint blood and magic aside, Bull felt himself drawn to him in a way he’d never felt with anyone before, and in a way he never  _ knew  _ he wanted. The name he’d used for Dorian before he left was a surprise to him.  _ Him.  _ The Iron Bull. The way Dorian feigned disinterest in the worst possible way was so endearing, and the word has slipped off Bull’s tongue before he could even quite process it himself. Loathe as he was to admit he regretted leaving Dorian behind and out of the loop, especially after dropping that bombshell on him. But it was necessary and unavoidable, and ultimately Ffion’s decision. He grunted, engrossed in his thoughts, and was snapped back by a clap on his arm from Krem.

“Everything alright Chief? Your face looks like a nug has you by the balls.”

Bull grumbled louder, murmuring something under his breath. “I’m fine, Krem. I just... have some things I want to check on back at Skyhold.”

Krem grinned and nudged Bull’s side with his elbow, “Aww Chief, don’t tell me you’re going soft on us!”

Bull grunted again and shoved off Krem, “Watch it, Krem, or I’ll make you trade places with the horse and have you carry everything.”

They wasted no time on the journey back to Skyhold, and it was largely uneventful, save for some good natured teasing from Krem. Bull sometimes regretted how easily he let Krem read him, but he knew the boy meant well. It wasn't very often that The Iron Bull was in a rush to return anywhere, and less often still that it wasn't just for a quick fuck for the night. Krem could see how deeply Bull cared for Dorian, and although Krem wasn't the best at reading a certain prissy Altus, he was fairly convinced Dorian felt the same. 

It was the early hours of the morning when the Chargers returned to Skyhold, and the grounds were fairly barren. There was a skeleton crew of soldiers and guards patrolling, who gave a short acknowledgement to them and very quickly returned to their duties. Bull rubbed at the base of horns, then unloaded one of the bags from the back of the horse they’d acquired. “Go drop these supplies off where they need to be and send the horse to the stables. Then get some sleep, you all look like crap.”

“Speak for yourself Chief, I thought you’d already been to the stables with how you smell.”

Bull grunted at him again and shoved his shoulder, then trudged off towards his room with the burlap sack in tow. 

  
He was pleasantly surprised when he pushed open his door, and was certainly not expecting it, given the circumstances. Led in his bed was Dorian, curled up in a multitude of sheets and snoring softly, deep in sleep. Bull couldn’t help but smile at him, overcome with  _ something _ that he didn’t want to put a name to just yet, but he knew that this scene made him deeply happy. He placed the sack in a corner and hid it to one side, then stripped as quietly as he could, pausing when Dorian seemed to stir, but he was in the clear. Freed of all his armour, he stretched widely, then slipped into bed beside Dorian, dropping off to sleep alongside his lover almost immediately. 


	3. Recipe for Disaster

The two weeks that Bull was away saw Dorian in the kitchens as much as he possibly could be. It didn’t take him long to pick up most of the basic skills of cooking, and after a few days he’d started properly helping out with the meals for Skyhold. The bits of magic he brought to the kitchen worked wonders for them; it increased their productivity and lightened their load slightly, but they knew it was only a temporary deal. He could be called out for a mission or combat at any moment, so they each valued his time there to the fullest extent. He’d made fast friends with the majority of the staff, and it had been such a strange feeling for him. His first encounters outside of Tevinter had been slow and taxing; mutual mistrust, his penchant for flamboyance and extrovertedness paired with the gruff nature of many of the people of the South hadn’t helped matters much for him to start with. But he’d grown, even in his short time at the Inquisition: he had learned a different sort of patience than the kind needed for his magic studies back at the Imperium, a patience that required perhaps less output than he was used to, but it helped gain him the trust he needed from people who were not of his own persuasion. He didn’t stop the flirting, though, no matter how much Mencía grumbled at him for it. His charm brought a new life to the rigidity of their days, and secretly they were all grateful for how refreshing it was. Mencía included, but she’d never let him know that. She had a reputation to uphold, and she’d be damned before Dorian realised he’d be able to get under her skin. 

Once Ffion had caught wind of his involvement with the (somewhat) rustic culinary arts, she’d decided to pay him a visit one afternoon once the rush of new arrivals had started to slow down, and her seemingly endless duties allowed her a modicum of free time. Once again, the staff of the kitchens were at a loss of how to respond to her: most of them had only met her once thanks to how absolutely packed her schedule was, and whilst working with them, Dorian had become acutely aware of how easily rumours spread among the workers.

Ffion was like a god in their eyes, the Mighty Inquisitor, saviour of Thedas, destroyer of evil, and killer of Dragons, though she was far less pleased with that last title. He knew she blamed Bull for that one, acting like a child in a roomful of cake, and against her better judgement had let him talk her into  _ actually fighting it. _ Sure, he had a big ass axe and could crush a man's skull in his hand, but between Dorian, Ffion, and Cole, they didn’t really provide much auxiliary help to him. Sure, Cole was stealthy (creepy) and could wield his knives well, but Dorian and Ffion were both necromancers, and it had taken them  _ four hours _ to finally kill it, both Dorian and Ffion had been absolutely exhausted after it. Dorian had made sure to pay Ffion back for that one, though. The morning after they’d returned to Skyhold after that ‘victory’, Dorian had recounted in  _ excruciating  _ detail the night he’d spent with Bull. He’d at least made her reconsider their plan of attack if they were ever to come across another Dragon: one that incorporated some fighters that  _ weren’t  _ two mages of the same magical persuasion. Thankfully, though, she agreed. He was fairly certain she didn’t ever want to hear every single intimate detail of his sex life ever again, which he was only moderately offended by. 

He let the kitchen staff be mildly intimidated by her for a few brief moments, before he allowed her to rush at him and jump into his arms, catching her out of the air. Her hair was visibly unkempt, a fluffy mess of short white hair, and she tried her best to keep her dazzling bright blue eye makeup from smearing all over him. The blue she used for her eyes was something he’d been trying to coax out of her for months, but she insistently refused, citing ‘old elven magic’ but he knew it was all rubbish. She just wanted her eye makeup to match her eyes and her vallaslin and didn’t want Dorian to know about it. 

“Well Dorian, I wasn't quite sure I believed it when they told me you were doing manual labour, but here you are — ” She paused and looked around at the sea of eyes locked on her, “ — why are they all staring at me?”

“Well it’s not often you make the trip down here so I think it’s fair to say everyone is slightly stunned.”

A blush spread across her pale cheeks as she smoothed out her hair and waved awkwardly, “Hello everyone, I hope Dorian isn’t giving you too much trouble? He can be an absolute menace for me sometimes for me sometimes out on missions — ”

“A wildly inaccurate statement.”

“ — so if he’s causing trouble just let me know and I’ll give him a clip around the ear.”

“You’re so unkind to me, Inquisitor. You wound me.” He plastered his hand to his forehead and feigned offence, earning him a swift slap to the arm. 

The staff once again felt more at ease, then, and Dorian dropped straight back into working some dough, scooting up so Ffion could pull up a stool next to him. 

“I’m surprised Bull’s not back yet, it’s already been a few days and he said he wouldn’t be long.” She took a large bite out of a sweet bread she’d acquired from the counter and chewed lazily, this was probably one of her first moments of respite in a few days so he decided not to comment too much on her manners. 

“I assume you’re aware of where he’s traipsed off to this time, Ffion? Not that he told me of course, just said I ‘didn't need to worry’ and ‘I’ll be back soon’. Charming really, isn’t it? Spend nearly a month away from Skyhold then he buggers off to spend more time away.”

Ffion turned away from him guiltily, talking another bite of the bread, “I absolutely do know where he’s gone and what his mission is, but he asked me not to tell you, I’m sorry!”

He rolled his eyes and huffed at her, making her wince. “I’d already assumed that was the case, don’t worry your pretty little head. Maker knows why I even bother sometimes, absolutely dreadful.” He slapped a wad of wet dough into an empty bowl for emphasis, and stared at Ffion with an over exaggerated frown. 

She locked her gaze with him guiltily, and stuffed the rest of the roll in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed it all in quick succession. “Hey here’s an idea, why don’t you cook him something when he gets back? He’s bound to appreciate that, even if it tastes like crap!”

“Your absolute faith in me is commendable.”

“You know what I mean, Dorian. You! Putting your effort into something you’d never have done before! All for him! That’s gotta’ at least make him a bit happy, right?”

Dorian rolled his eyes at her and hacked at another roll of dough, “Is that before or after I mention the only reason I began this endeavour is because he decided to leave me behind?”

Ffion picked at another sweet roll and shrugged. “That’s on you if you tell him that, you could just leave that little part out, just sayin’”

“And where do you suppose I start this culinary endeavour?”

“You tell me, you basically live in a library, surely you’ve got something in those special books of yours that’ll help you?”

“I don’t  _ live  _ in the library, don't be obtuse. Sometimes I think you play into the whole ‘Dalish from the remote woods’ deal far more than you need to.”

“Works though, doesn’t it? I’ll take the odd ‘knife eared whore’ comment if it means I can get the job done without too much fuss.” 

“One day, some of them are going to realise you’re actually smart, you know. Then what?”

She winked and him and slid down off the stool, picking up one more sweet bread. “I just realised I have....somewhere else to be. Sorry Dorian, love you. Bye!” She reached up and placed a sloppy kiss on his cheek and waved to the rest of them, then turned on her heel and skipped out, leaving Dorian to roll his eyes at nothing.

“You’re a terrible liar and a terrible influence, Ffion.”

* * *

Despite the jesting between him and Ffion and as much as he wouldn’t admit it to her, there was certainly something interesting in what she’d suggested. Later on that evening once he’d retired from the kitchen, he’d decided to take up Ffion’s suggestion. He spent the next few hours scouring through all the books and texts at his disposal in the library, searching for what, he wasn’t sure. He knew he wanted some sort of recipe but he wasn’t especially convinced the Inquisition would just so happen to have a ‘cooking for your Qunari lover’ cookbook lying around, so he spent the time searching for  _ something  _ that could potentially have what he was looking for. And after a few hours of searching that evening, he was starting to think that his research was going to take far longer than one night. He decided to retire for that evening, trading both the kitchen and his cooking search for some piss poor wine and one of Varric’s trashy novels. He’d considered asking around the inhabitants of Skyhold, but everyone had so much on their plates, what with the end of the world and everything, that he didn’t feel at all happy to disturb anyone. That, and he didn’t want anyone to work out what he was planning. He had a reputation, after all. 

In lieu of hovering around in the kitchen all day, he spent several hours over the next two days pouring over each book he could find which even remotely had ties to anything Qunari. Ffion had stopped by for a few hours to help him, less by choice and more from a little bit of guilt tripping from Dorian. It  _ was  _ her idea after all, it was only right that she helped out, especially when it was clear she had nothing better to do if she were hanging around him so much. He had felt a tinge of guilt at her hanging around when she was normally so busy, but when she landed on a goldmine that seemed to hold exactly what he needed, he felt considerably _ less _ guilty. 

"'The Qun and more: An in-depth study of the life and times of the Qunari people.' Short and snappy, just like all book titles should be.  _ Not. _ " Ffion snorted and handed the book to Dorian, his eyes bright and hopeful behind the harsh lines of his kohl.

"It certainly gets the point across though, hopefully they …" he thumbed through an index then carefully turned to a chapter and thumbed through another few pages until he found the exact thing he was searching for, and showed it to Ffion. “It’s particularly wordy but it certainly passes for a recipe! I could kiss you, this is perfect.” Ffion blushed  _ ever _ so slightly and grinned back at him, jumping up from her perch on the floor. 

“It looks like it’s a pastry kind of thing, right? You’ve been making a bunch of breads so at least you’ve had some experience with it.”

“And these ingredients.. if memory serves we have most of these in the pantry.”

“Then my work here is done,  _ Master Pavus _ .” She bowed low and made an over the top gesture with her arms, making herself giggle in the process. 

“You have my thanks,  _ Lady Inquisitor _ .” 

“Yuck, don’t call me that again.” She squinted out of the window from his coop in the library and turned to leave, “Maybe leave that till tomorrow, yeah? Looks like we took a little more time than we thought, and we seem to be the last ones up.”

He sighed loudly as he stared through the window, and picked up a spare book marker he had laying around and stuck it in the book, then closed it quietly and tucked it under his arm. “Well then, my dear Inquisitor, I bid you a good night. Don’t keep the Commander up too late, he shows  _ very _ easily when he hasn’t had his beauty sleep.”

Ffion stuck her tongue out at him as he departed, and he responded in turn with a wink. He’d contemplated making a visit to the kitchens that evening, but a wave of weariness washed over him and instead, he headed to Bull’s room. He wasted no time in stripping down to his smalls, folding his discarded clothes in a neat pile on a sad excuse for a chair, and bundled himself up in Bull’s sheets, sleep claiming him almost immediately.


	4. Tastes like Home

When Dorian awoke, he was overwhelmingly grateful that he wasn’t alone. He was curled up on his side, still bundled up in Bull’s sheets, but this time his head was resting on Bull’s arm: less soft than his pillows but far superior. The warmth of The Iron Bull against his back was comforting, homely even, and as he began to feel more awake, he turned to face Bull, burying his face into the Bull’s chest and snuggling up to him. He felt the low rumble of Bull’s laugh as his arm curled around to rest on Dorian’s back.

“You’re awake then?”

“Against my better judgement, yes.” Dorian’s answer came muffled from his position, and Bull rumbled out another low laugh.

“Did you miss me?”

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

“I’d believe it, but I can’t say I’d be too happy about it.”

Dorian shifted at that, sitting himself into more of an upright position to stare at Bull. He leaned in for a lingering kiss and smiled into it, “I suppose admitting I missed you is the least I could do, though I don’t know that you deserve it after leaving me for so long.”

“I’m sure you managed somehow.” Bull kissed him again and stroked slow circles on Dorian’s back, both of them content to laze in each others arms without feeling the need to do much else.

After dozing for a while longer, it was Bull who finally moved first. He slid out of the bed (ignoring a protest from Dorian) and picked up the sack he’d dropped there the night before, placing it on the bed next to Dorian and sitting himself on the edge. “I think maybe you were joking about finding you spices, but it just so happens we came across some Vint traders on our travels. Picked up a whole load of crap: ingredients, spices, fabrics, and even some recipes from them. Thought you might appreciate it, even though you were joking.”

Dorian laid out the contents of the sack on the bed and inspected everything. He picked up a vial of orange-like powder and uncorked the top, inhaling in a scent so recognisable from his homeland that he nearly shed a tear. He moved onto the rolled up bunches of parchment, next, and unfurled it, immediately recognising the sketch as one of his favourite pastries from the Imperium.

“I’m actually rather speechless, Bull. I may have spoken in jest when you departed, but in a strange turn of events, I’ve been spending the majority of my time in the kitchens.” He rolled the parchment back up and slipped out of bed, retrieving the book he and Ffion had found the previous evening, then took his place next to Bull on the bed. “And in an even stranger turn of events, the Inquisitor and I, through her suggestion and my perseverance, found this delightful recipe which I’m absolutely certain is well within the realms of my culinary capabilities.” He opened the book to his marked page and handed it to Bull, trying (and failing) to gauge his reaction. 

“I haven’t eaten this since I was a child… were you going to cook his for me?” 

Dorian feared he’d made a mistake and studied Bull’s face carefully, but as usual, he never gave anything away. “Is… is that not good? As much as I hate it I do admit I’m still a novice, though I’ve been told I’m doing exceptionally well for having only been learning for a few w—”

He was cut off mid sentence by a swift kiss from Bull, who stared at him sternly. “Stop your yapping for a moment. I’d be very grateful if you made this for me, Dorian. And I feel it’s only fair if I make one of your Vint cakes for you, too. Don’t want you to feel left out after all.” 

Dorian was rattled momentarily, then gave Bull a beaming smile, one that was only ever reserved for him. “Well who am I to deny you? I’ll make sure the kitchens are free tonight for us, though I won’t be blamed if you burn down an entire section of Skyhold, kitchen first.” 

“At least it won’t be your magic that burns it down, damned Vint.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


As promised, the main kitchen was empty once Bull and Dorian had eventually come round to occupy it. The scene was only slightly short of carnage, with flour and fruits and Maker knows what spread everywhere across the worktops, and across each other. Dorian had made the mistake of wearing one of his more preferred garments for the evening, a sleeveless rich, wine purple tunic threaded with gold, which was now undeniably covered in all manners of food related substances. Bull, however, seemed to have decided he wanted to embarrass Dorian as much as he wanted to cook for him, opting to wear a too-small white, frilly apron which hardly covered his chest. Dorian suspected Sera and Ffion had a hand in that, little demons that they were, but he didn’t complain. It hardly served to make him hot under the proverbial collar if that was what Bull was trying to go for: it was the equivalent of a child’s size on Bull and looked… ridiculous. But, nevertheless, Dorian found it equal parts endearing, adorable, and downright ridiculous. Though, if he were to tell anyone he found a seven foot something Qunari warrior adorable, they'd likely call him soft in the head. 

Dorian had managed to get started first: he’d paid a visit to the pantry earlier to make sure all the supplies he needed were readily available, and with a stroke of luck, the only thing he was missing had been brought to him by Bull himself. 

He’d been particularly surprised by how easily Bull found his way around the kitchen, though Bull was quick to point out that not everyone had led a life of luxury, being waited on hand and foot. Dorian had tried to argue that there had been far more to his life in Minrathous than just that, but Bull had cut him short.

“I’m just saying, that fending for yourself is more common in most parts of the world. You were rich and privileged, but the majority of people have already learned to cook for themselves when they’re far younger.” Bull noticed the frown that had creeped its way across Dorian’s face, and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “Though, your standing with anyone who’s been poor would probably increase if they learned you'd been cooking.”

“True, but I’d also have to explain the reason _why_ I became so fixated in this particular hobby. I can’t let people know I was _lonely,_ Bull. What _ever_ will they think of me?”

“That you’re human? That you’re not an evil Vint Magister in disguise just too destroy the Inquisition from the inside?”

“ _Kaffas,_ don’t remind me that they’ve already worked it out. Perceptive little buggers.” 

Bull chuckled at him and returned to his task, rolling the spice filled balls of dough ready to drop into the oil. Dorian already had two pots of oil heating over magically conjured flames (much to Bull’s dismay: lighting a small flame by hand was _just_ as easy), and they were both simmering quietly. 

The smell in the room even before they’d began to fry anything was divine: the Northern spices procured by Bull mixed with the strong scent of dried fruits and butters were to die for, and both of them were very eager to try the other interpretations of the food from their homelands. Dorian was ready first, he carefully dropped the sweet, fruit filled pastries into his pot of oil, dodging expertly out of the way as the scalding oil spat out at him. Bull had followed suit fairly soon, dropping his own pastry creations into his oil and dodging in much the same way. They both stood in relative silence for a few moments, watching their bubbling pots intently.

Dorian was the first to break the silence. “Awfully domestic, this. Baking in a shared kitchen, carefree as if the world isn’t falling apart around us.”

“Domestic is good, unless that’s not what you wanted.”

“ _Kaffas,_ of course I want it, Bull. I want nothing more than lock myself away with you and pretend we’re the only ones that exist. But there’s too much to do, so many things need to happen if I’m going to fix Tevinter, and not enough time in the day.”

“Perhaps you should spend some of that time watching out for your bubbling pot?” Bull motioned to Dorian’s now perfectly browned sweets, and laughed at the eagerness in which he pulled them out. He returned to his own pot, turning the spiced pastries in the oil with a fork, and readying his own plate.

Dorian plucked out the remainder of his own batch and carefully lay them in a bowl of warm honey, letting them soak for a few moments, then fished them out one by one and placed them on his own plate. “Well, it’s the moment of truth, Amatus. And please, spare me if they’re revolting. It’ll damage my ego far too much if they’re horrible and I’m not particularly fond of the thought of that being damaged.” He picked up one of the sweets carefully between his fingers, and offered it out to Bull, truly hoping his love would enjoy it.

It wasn’t until Bull was halfway through the bite that Dorian realised the word he'd used. It had just slipped out in a moment of simple contentment, and it felt _right._ He waited with bated breath as Bull tasted it, giving absolutely nothing away as usual, except for the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile. 

“Well? Don’t keep me waiting, I’m not feeling particularly patient at this moment in time”

“It’s delicious, Kadan. Not that you need me to tell you this, but you should trust yourself more.” He raised up a fork, then, with one of his own creations on, and offered it out to Dorian. “Here, my turn. Lets see how good that crappy Vint’s stuff turned out to be.”

Dorian allowed Bull to feed him the pastry, and he had to fight back a noise as he bit into it. The multitude of flavours and spices and textures all from that one small parcel was incredible, and it hit Dorian with such force that it left him reeling slightly. The blandness of the Southern food had always been a concern and complaint for him, but only now did he truly realise how much the flavours of his homeland truly meant to him. He glanced back up at Bull who was watching expectantly, and in that moment, all Dorian could do was reach up and kiss him deeply, hoping he could convey all his feelings through that one action. They parted after a moment, albeit a little bit breathless, and Dorian held Bull’s face in his hands. 

“Bull, I think we probably need to have some sort of chat regarding the change to Kadan and Amatus but—”

“We will, but tell me, Kadan. How does it taste?”

“Bull, Amatus, my love.” He ran his hands down Bull’s arms and gripped his hands, interlocking their fingers as he stared deeply into Bull’s eyes.

“It tastes like home.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had so much fun writing this! It's my first time writing Adoribull together, but not my first time writing them! I used one of my Inquisitors for this, and [here's](https://i.imgur.com/ZravAgP.png) an image of her if you're curious!  
> Find me on twitter [@clothhwaltz](https://twitter.com/clothhwaltz)


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